My Dark Angel
by Mayume N
Summary: The Phantom made a wish to gain control of the opera house. Now that it has been rebuilt there are new faces and new challenges that face our opera spirit as he deals with a defiant prodigy amongst the advances of the 21st century.
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing besides the plot.**

_Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained. _

1904  
The Phantom stared at the now decaying opera house. It was ruined. Everything in his life had fallen to ruin. The opera house was in shambles, Madam Gire had moved far away, and Christine was dead. There was nothing for him now. Snow was falling on the streets of Paris like frozen teardrops as he walked slowly down the alleyways. He finally made it to a ladder, which lead to the roof of the building. As he climbed he thought about everything that had happened. He reached the top and climbed onto the roof, feeling the brisk chill of the winter air as he stared at the ground below him. All he wanted was a chance, the ability to turn the Opera Populare into a thriving showcase of the work he could create. This was the wish on his mind as he fell.


	2. Chapter 2

**I am so sorry for how long this took! I had an idea when I posted this and then I started writing it…and I hated it. So I kept the first chapter but everything from here on out is ALL NEW! (Even though you never read the original) So here it is! The song that I was listening to during the first part is Breath of Life by Florence and the Machines so I suggest listening to it but feel free to do what you want.**

The entire building beat with the music pulsing through the speakers. Shouts and pounding feet could be heard from every corner and deep below in the catacombs of the new Opera Populaire. Dark eyes opened in agitation at the hour and noise before closing again, allowing the man to rise from slumber in darkness to investigate the reason for the disturbance.

Above his home, the music continued as a band of dancers flung their bodies gracefully yet primitively across the stage and out to the platforms that stood among the audience. As the man entered the rafters where he was certain he would not be noticed he heard a voice build up from the middle of the stage over the voice of the original singer on the track. A young boy stood there, his voice naturally carrying through the room and blending with the sound of the choir. He moved with the dancers in sharp, calculated movements as the music escalated in intensity. The man snuck down closer to get a better look, examining the boy. He had never seen or heard him before. He looked and sounded young yet mature at the same time. His body was strong and he could hold notes better than some of the singers that had somehow received the leads in the modern productions. The boy turned and the man could now see his face. His face was that of a child and yet his eyes were circled with evidence of long nights without sleep. His eyes were what captivated the man. They were filled with passion and youth, bright blue pools brimming with emotion that could spill over at any moment. What was strange about them was the lack of focus. His eyes traveled over every detail like they had never seen any of the surroundings.

As the music faded out the dancers came into a mass at the center of the stage and chattered together until a tall woman came up the stage stairs, "Thank you Amé for standing in, does everyone understand now how this scene plays out?" All the dancers nodded to her with a "yes Madame" and the boy bowed. The dancers left the stage leaving the boy and the woman standing alone, "You will be doing the show Amé, correct?"

The boy nodded, eyes fixed on a point on the stage to the left of the woman's face, "Yes Madame, as always."

She gave him a smile and put a hand on his shoulder, "Good, it would not be a production without you."

The man kept to the shadows as he watched the woman leave with the boy not far behind, "Amé, is it?" he breathed out the name, testing it on his lips.

"Amethyst," he looked down to see the boy had stopped at the stairs. The boy turned very slightly, his eyes fixed on the ground below where the man was hidding, "My name is Amethyst, sir."

Before the man could speak, the boy had jumped down the stairs and out a side door to the green room, leaving the man alone to contemplate the boy called Amethyst.


End file.
